Catching the Wind(92)

“Spoken like a lawyer,” Quenby teased.

He sat back in his chair. “It’s the power of your press.”

“If they were collaborating in some way, why would Lady Ricker keep a picture of him?” Mrs. Hough asked.

Lucas’s smile was grim. “Probably to use for blackmail.”

“A smart woman, I suppose,” Mrs. Hough said as she pushed away from the table, her mug empty.

“Where does Richard Graham’s son play into all of this?” Lucas asked.

The light on Quenby’s mobile blinked. The name on the screen was the one she’d keyed in days ago by the river. “Perhaps we are about to find out.”





CHAPTER 56





_____

“Will you walk with me?” Lucas asked after Quenby emerged from the library, shaken from her conversation with Evan Graham.

Quenby glanced toward the corridor, but Mrs. Hough had conveniently disappeared. “It’s late.”

“Does your head hurt?” he asked.

“No.”

“Please—we won’t be long.”

When she nodded, he gently took the phone from her hand and placed it on the table. “You won’t need a phone out there.”

She followed Lucas outside, onto the stone pavers of a patio. The burr of crickets accompanied them as they walked toward a pool surrounded by flowers and ornamental shrubs. Starlight reflected in the still black water, and the aromas of jasmine and rose perfumed the evening air, wind rustling their leaves.

“What did Evan say?” he asked, pausing beside the pool.

“He wants to know what I’ve uncovered in my research.”

“And you said—”

“That his grandfather was a friend of the Rickers.”

“I bet he loved that.”

“I didn’t say it exactly like that, but I told him I’d found a photograph of Admiral Drague and Lady Ricker together before Admiral Drague purchased Breydon Court. I told him I had no desire or even evidence to implicate his family, but still . . .”

“What?” Lucas asked.

“He offered me a tremendous amount of money to return to work in the morning and hand over my research. Then he wanted me to start writing a different story.”

“I hope you told him you’re not motivated by money.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“You are an amazing woman, Quenby.”

She shook her head. “Not so much. Not after you get to know me.”

He reached for her other hand. “I think I know you pretty well.”

“There’s much that is still unbeknownst to you,” she said, trying to make a joke, lighten the intensity in his eyes, but he didn’t laugh.

“You are worth fighting for.” He stepped closer. “You and I both know I’m far from perfect, but I would like the opportunity to love you as you should be loved.”

She swallowed hard, basking in his words. “I—” she started, faltering. If only she could ride on the breeze, travel far away from here. “You’re using your superpowers again.”

“Which power is that?” he asked.

“Manipulation.”

“That’s not a superpower.” He stepped back. “And I’m not trying to manipulate you.”

Disappointment laced his words as if she were accusing him of the worst sort of crime. Now he would surely run.

“I’m being completely honest with you,” he said, still holding her hands though he was losing grip.

Could she do the same? Be completely honest with him?

Daniel had spent his whole life trying to keep his promise to return to Brigitte, and it seemed as if Lucas kept his promises too. He’d certainly kept his word with her. Perhaps she could learn again to trust the people who wanted what was best for her.

Perhaps she could love him in return.

“Lucas,” she started again, taking a deep breath.

“I’m not going to leave you, Quenby.”

Before she replied, Mrs. Hough called out to them from the patio. Quenby stepped away.

Lucas looked at Quenby a moment longer and then called over his shoulder, “We’re out here.”

“Oh, good.” She hurried forward, finding them by the pool. “You said Adler House, didn’t you?”

“That’s correct,” Lucas said.

“The provost at a secondary school in Yorkshire said some of his best students come from there.”

“Students?” Quenby asked, her voice a strange squeak.

Mrs. Hough shrugged. “He didn’t expound, but he gave me the address.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Lucas said.

She glanced between them. “I’ll leave you alone, then,” she said, backing away.

But the magic was already gone.



Adler House was hidden among the dales of North Yorkshire. It was a place, Quenby guessed, where knights triumphed over evil. A place where princesses could fly.

Like Breydon Court, iron gates blocked the lane into the property, but there was no intercom button to press. And a For Sale sign hung crooked from one of the gates. Quenby feared that once again, Brigitte had slipped away.

An unkempt hedgerow, made of yew, extended from the gates, and the limbs of several large trees dangled over it. Quenby eyed the branches. “Should we climb it?”